“She bears the weapons and armor of a man,” Silver-Ear said. “It does not matter if she is a child, for just as our own cubs still bear teeth, so too does she threaten us if we are not careful.”
“All the more reason to slash her throat,” Manfeaster argued.
Silver-Ear came up behind them, and at her beckoning Moonslayer stepped back, giving her room to kneel. Jessilynn curled her knees to her chest, watching, curious what the milky-eyed female wanted of her. What was it about her that the shaman felt was so important?
“Twice we have crossed the river in my lifetime,” Silver-Ear said. “Twice we were defeated by men with glowing weapons and silver armor. Your father was defeated. Those creatures you’ve cowed out there know this, and stay only because of fear. But if you can make them believe you, if you can make them accept you as kings…”
Silver-Ear rubbed a claw down the side of Jessilynn’s face. She flinched, but the shaman’s touch was strangely gentle.
“We hold one so similar to who defeated us before,” Silver-Ear said. “And you think she is nothing?”
She stood, turned to face the two.
“Humiliate her,” she said. “Enslave her. Parade her before all the races, and let them know we will not be stopped. And her use does not stop there.”
Jessilynn’s heart was in her throat when the female turned her cold eyes on her.
“You will deny nothing that we say,” she said. “Only nod and accept my words. Do you understand me, human? If you do not, then your mutilated body will serve our purpose just as well.”
Whatever defiant part of her that existed before that moment felt miniscule in the darkness, stared down by strange, bestial eyes.
“I’ll say nothing,” she said.
“Good.”
Silver-Ear turned to the others.
“I will begin,” she said. “I trust you two to continue when I stop.”
“One wonders who the pack leader really is,” Moonslayer said, his voice carrying a hint of a growl.
“I swore a promise to your father,” Silver-Ear said. “Do as I say, lest you insult his memory by preventing me from fulfilling his dying wish.”
She walked to the entrance of the cave, glanced back.
“The time is upon us,” she said. “Everything we’ve prepared for, it happens now. Bring her. And bring her bloodied.”
The two wolf-men turned to her. She felt the impulse to sob, but she fought it down. She would not weep before these monsters. Moonslayer lifted a hand, and there was undeniable cruelty in his eyes.
“Bloodied?” he said. “If the shaman insists.”
With shocking speed he slashed across her face. She felt the claws tearing into her cheek, ripping flesh. The impact sent her slamming to the stone, flooding the darkness with a sudden swirl of stars and light. She felt blood dripping down her neck as well as her throat, and reflexively she coughed. Her left hand brushed her cheek, felt the flesh hanging like ribbons. Tears from the pain rolled down her face as Manfeaster grabbed her neck and lifted her off the ground.
“Come, brother,” he said, carrying her as if she and her armor weighed nothing. “Let us show the rabble our prize.”
Once outside the cave, Manfeaster slung her over his shoulder like she was one of the cattle they’d brought in the night before. Amid her delirium she saw the entrance to her cave, saw her bow and arrows lying against the stone beside it. She felt a desire to grab it, not to kill others, but to send an arrow through her lower jaw and into her skull. This was torment. This was the Abyss. Sinful or not, she couldn’t help it, not when she thought of what her face must look like. Not while it throbbed with unbearable pain, dripping blood across the fur of her tormenter.
Wolf-men gathered around them as Silver-Ear and the two brothers led the way toward the center of the ravine. They parted easily enough, only a few nipping back. All eyes were on her, and she closed her own so she would not have to see them. She was only a curiosity, not a threat. On and on they walked, until she was violently thrown to the ground. The force of her head striking the dirt jarred her eyes open, and she let out a cry. Moonslayer put his foot on her chest, holding her down.
“Stay put,” he told her.
Jessilynn nodded, glancing around. They were in the center of the ravine, in a place sectioned off from the other camps. Every race had a place to be represented, she saw, from the goat-men to the bird-men to the diminutive goblins. In the very middle of it all stood the two-wolf men, with Silver-Ear nearby. The creatures howled and cursed one another, but when Silver-Ear threw her head back and howled, they quieted enough so they might hear her words.
“All you monsters of the Wedge,” she said, turning so she might address the races. “You know why you are here. You know of the land beyond the rivers, rich with game, with green grass and clear water. It will be ours, as it was in the days of old. And it will happen, because for the first time in an age we will be united. We will be free. We will serve kings!”
“Kings of the Vile!” roared the wolf-men, and scattered among the other races were a few who took up a similar cry.
“In times past we failed, broken and alone,” Silver-Ear continued. “Our greatest could not succeed, for our enemies were strong. But behold now their strongest.”
The female was at Jessilynn’s side instantly, grabbing her arm and yanking her up so they might see her armor.
“This,” said Silver-Ear, “this weakling is all that remains of they who once defeated Redclaw. Where once they sent mighty warriors, now they send whimpering girls. Where once they wielded swords and shields of light, now only a flimsy stick of wood. Look at her. All of you, look upon the greatest mankind may throw against us! Our age has come, the age of our kings!”
Louder now the wolf-men howled, and their excitement seemed to be infectious. Jessilynn clenched her jaw, determined to stay silent. The shaman’s words insulted her, but there was nothing she could do about it. The idea of her being weaker, inferior, burned deep in her belly, playing on fears she’d carried since those earliest nights listening to Jerico’s stories.
“But that is not all,” Silver-Ear continued. “This human, this girl, knows everything. She knows of the boats. She knows of the towers. She knows where the armies move against us, and what evil magic they will try to use to keep us imprisoned in this wretched land. This broken thing will tell us everything. By the words of a single human, we will crush all humans!”
She turned to the two brothers, nodding slightly so they might know she was finished. Moonslayer stepped forward, beginning his speech with an ear-splitting howl that seemed to go on forever.
“We have no reason to be afraid!” he cried. “We have no reason to kill one another. The strong must eat the weak, but none here are weak. It is the humans who are weak. Their flesh, their hands, their will…it is weak, and we will crush it. Together, we will forge a kingdom of the Vile, and we will be your kings.”
Manfeaster jumped in, his timing flawless.
“We do not ask you to kneel,” he shouted to the other races. “We do not ask you to serve. We only ask you follow us, listen to us, so that you may join us in this conquest. Let us together crush the humans, and go to a land so fertile, so grand, that our kind will never go hungry again!”
“We are the sons of Redclaw,” Moonslayer roared. “Not just us, but all of us, and together we will finish what he began!”
Jessilynn was too tired, too delirious from the pain and blood loss, to take in the cacophony that followed. She’d listened best she could, her horror slowly fading into the background of her mind. It was all too much. The way the creatures looked at her, the goat-men with their long faces, the goblins with their strange, unblinking gaze, it was as if she were some entity from another world. Perhaps she was. All of them stared with a hunger, a sense of greed that she no longer wished to see.